


Visit To The Lazaret

by History_Fanatic



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: Historical, RPF, dima is kind of in it?, for like a second before he's gone, romanov - Freeform, so i feel a little guilty tagging him but whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 11:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17243324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/History_Fanatic/pseuds/History_Fanatic
Summary: Maria and Anastasia visit their lazaret and Maria over hears something said about her mother, the Empress.This can be read as a Anastasia Broadway fanfic if you want to (although it was written as a real Romanov fanfic). This fanfic takes place during WW1 so keep in mind that Maria’s hair is up, Maria and Anastasia are wearing very simple clothes and Olga and Tatiana are in their nurse uniforms. Also this fanfic is heavily inspired by a scene in Sarah Miller’s ‘The Lost Crown’. I also tried to make Maria sound a bit younger than in other fanfics.Characters: Maria Nikolaevna, Anastasia Nikolaevna, Tatiana Nikolaevna, Olga Nikolaevna, Feodosi Sergeievich [OC], Andrei Alexandrovich [mentioned], Dmitri (from musical) [mentioned], Nicholas II [mentioned] and Alexandra Feodorovna [mentioned]





	Visit To The Lazaret

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Lost Crown](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/445292) by Sarah Miller. 



> This is really bad and short 🤷♀️. I don’t really like how this ended (I couldn’t think of anything else) but oh well!

Maria Nikolaevna’s POV, September 1914

Today me and Anastasia are visiting our lazaret, how exciting! We were planning to visit Olga and Tatiana while they were working but we were told that they have two surgeries that they need to help assist with Mama. Papa is still gone and I’m still rather upset about his leaving. If I had the chance I would have jumped on the train with him! I would do anything to be with Papa again… But until then I just have to wait for darling Papa to come back.

Anastasia is being particularly pesty today. She tripped me over while I was waking out of our room and joked “Trip much, fat Maria?”. I tried to get her back by slapping the back of her head but then Mama came in and told me off! She trips me over and I’m the one who gets told off! Whatever, it’s nothing new. Just another day of being the sister of the Grand Duchess Shvybzik.

When we arrive at our lazaret me and Anastasia immediately get to work cheering up the wounded. The first one we meet is a man called Feodosi Sergeievich Bagirli, I remember our Anya [Anna Vyrubova] saying that she knew his father before the war.

When we approached him he gasped, “Your Imperial Highnesses!”, and many of his fellow men tried to hide underneath their blankets. We both simply smiled and sat down on his bed. “It’s fine”, Anastasia replied, “you can call us Maria and Anastasia Nikolaevna if you’d like.” The soldier still seemed a little shocked so I put my hand on his and smiled gently at him.

“What is your name?” I ask in a soothing tone. “Feodosi Sergeievich Bagirli.” He mumbles. He seems to be a bit more calmer, though still in awe. His gaze is fixated on my thin gold bangle bracelet. “Do you like it? It’s a present from my mother.” I enquire. His gaze quickly moves to Anastasia, who is now talking to another soldier, and lands on her wrist.

“We all have one. Our mother has one too, she was given her’s when she was a little girl by her Uncle Leopold.” He glanced back at me with a slight questioning look. “What is the matter?” I ask. “I apologise, I just always thought that the Grand Duchesses jewellery was always very extravagant.” He answered.

I lightly laughed while blushing. It’s so strange that people think we are always strapped from head to toe in expensive jewels and clothing. I suppose we can’t blame them for thinking that though, they can only make assumptions based on the formal photographs they see of us. They never see us when we are at our most humblest.

From that moment he and all of the other soldiers seemed much more relaxed in our presence. Me and Anastasia went to each and every one of them asking questions about their family, telling jokes, and in general trying to cheer them up and distract them from their injuries. The last soldier we talked to (in this room at least) was Andrei Alexandrovich (we never learnt his last name). He, like Feodosi, was previously a patient of Olga and Tatiana’s lazaret before he was moved to ours.

They were all so pleasant and sweet that one couldn’t help loving each and every one of them. Anastasia seemed to like Andrei Alexandrovich the best, perhaps because he’s the most like her. He’s humorous, witty and is full of funny (and sometimes crazy) stories. After a while it’s time for us to visit the wounded in the next room.

“Anastasia? Aren’t you coming?” I question while stopping my steps towards the other room. She’s still sat on the bed talking to Andrei Alexandrovich. “I’ll be there soon, I want to know more about Andrei Alexandrovich’s trip to West Africa!” She gives me a broad smile and then continues asking (more like berating) him to tell her more.

As I was entering the next room, I heard some of the soldiers whispering. Right before I stepped through the doorway, amid the mumbling and shushes from the other men, I hear a man say “I wonder if we’ll ever see the Nemka herself.” I swiftly entered the room and, as soon as it started, the laughing stopped and I could see the embarrassment on his face as well as the panic on the faces of his surrounding soldiers.

What on earth is a Nemka? Perhaps Mama has tended to this man before and it’s an affectionate nickname? But even then, why was he laughing? I quickly brush off these thoughts, put a smile on my face, and go to greet and talk to each wounded soldier one by one. I feel so much for them, poor brave souls. I have a special fondness for the friend of Igor Denisovich Vilkov who was visiting him that day, ‘Dima’ as he calls him, as he is so humble and sweet, albeit a little sarcastic when it comes to his friend’s injuries and his own life in general.

Despite the joy I felt from conversing with the wounded, for the rest of the day I find it hard to stop thinking about what the man said. I was going to ask him but before I could say hello to him he was already asleep. I noticed the wound on his side and didn’t wish to bother him so I left without finding out the meaning.

Later, once me and Anastasia had returned from our lazaret, I still can’t get the word out of my mind. Olga and Tatiana are sat on our sofa opposite of my chair, Tatiana has her funny little Ortipo on her lap, discussing their nursing work. Anastasia is with Mama (who is feeling terribly worn out from today’s work) in her lilac boudoir.

I simply can’t think of any answer to what ‘Nemka’ means so once the big pair are momentarily silent I ask. Their heads instantly snap to face me. Tatiana immediately asks “Where did you hear that?”. Olga looks flustered and seems to be gathering herself up to respond. “In the Lazaret. I heard a soldier say it.” I responded.

Olga breaths a long sigh before she explains “It’s a horrible name for a German woman.” My eyebrows crunch together in confusion and I give both of my sisters a questioning (and slightly bewildered) glance. “But Mama is Russian, she has been for more than 20 years! Why would they think she’s still a wretched German?”

Tatiana stands up to sit next to me and puts her arms around my shoulders. “Yes, Mama is a Russian and has been ever since she married Papa. She was born in Hesse but her heart now, and even then, belongs to Russia.” Tatiana said, “You mustn’t ever say that dreadful word around Mama ever.” She continues.

I quickly nod my head as I try to shake off my bewilderment from someone saying such an awful thing about darling Mama. “She would be very upset if she heard it, do you understand?” Olga pipes in. I again nod my head. Tatiana brushes a stray strand of hair out of my eyes as she attempts to comfort me. “Don’t worry about it, Mashka.” She says with an affectionate tone.

After a few seconds Tatiana stands up and brushes some lint off of her uniform. “I’m going to check on Mama and Nastya, I’ll bring back some of our embroidery tools.” She gives us a small smile and then leaves the room. After she left Olga got up and sat where Tatiana was previously sitting. She takes my hand and assured me “Everything will be fine, my dorogaya.” I give my dear sister a warm smile. My Olya is as sweet as one can be.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is what Otma look like/what they are wearing in this short fanfic (https://imgur.com/a/neroFKT). Left to right: Anastasia, Tatiana, Maria and Olga


End file.
